


Bottoms Up

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee, M/M, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m going to die,” the guy repeats, drags a hand through the marginally unwashed mess that is his hair and then unceremoniously tips the entire contents of the energy drink into his coffee. “Ah well. Bottoms up!” He glances sideways at Strife, smiles in an oddly sly sort of way, and downs the whole thing in one long swallow.</p>
<p>(In which Parvis introduces himself to Strife during a seven am lecture by downing more caffeine in one sitting than any human ever should.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottoms Up

**Author's Note:**

> [this](http://sparxflame.tumblr.com/post/100152183823/m-azing-korrakun-my-favorite-college) was too good an idea to pass up on tbh

“I’m going to die.”

Strife looks up from the lecture handout that’s stubbornly refusing to swim into focus before his sleep-blurred eyes. Most of the rest of the room, if they’re not outright asleep on top of their folders or using their arms as pillows, are talking to friends in hushed voices, or staring at the board with empty eyes as they wait for the professor.

The guy sat next to him, though, isn’t. He’s staring at the half-drunk cup of coffee and the opened bottle of some name-brand energy drink sat on the lecture theatre desk in front of him, dark eyes narrowed in oddly intense concentration. Strife recognises him, vaguely, the beanpole-gangly thinness of him and the ridiculous logo on the front of the oversized hoodie he’s bundled up in, but he can’t bring a name to mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to die,” the guy repeats, drags a hand through the marginally unwashed mess that is his hair and then unceremoniously tips the entire contents of the energy drink into his coffee. “Ah well. Bottoms up!”

He glances sideways at Strife, smiles in an oddly sly sort of way, and downs the whole thing in one long swallow.

Stomach turning at just the thought of drinking such a disgusting concoction – he’s not even eaten anything today, and the one weak cup of coffee he’d had in a failed attempt to wake himself up is sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach – Strife winces and looks away. “Lovely,” he mutters to himself, presses fingers to his temples, and prays for the lecturer to just _arrive_ already. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get back to his accommodation and go back to sleep until at least midday.

The guy sets the cardboard coffee cup back down on the table with a dull sort of click, wipes his mouth and giggles. It sounds a little hysterical. “That tasted disgusting,” he announces, gets a dirty look from the person sitting on the other side of him for being so damn _loud_ and completely misses it.

Biting back a sarcastic remark about how energy drinks and coffee aren’t exactly designed to be complimentary to one another, Strife ignores him, traces fingers over the lecture handout in the hope that it might give his eyes something to focus on. It works, the words resolving into shapes, but he realises that attempting to understand what they actually _mean_ still eludes him.

_God_ , he hates mornings.

“Who are you, anyway?” says the guy, evidently oblivious to the _shut up and leave me alone_ vibes Strife is giving off. The whole room’s giving them off, really – it’s barely seven in the morning, an ungodly time to be up as it is. No one’s really got the energy for conversation right now.

But it seems rude to ignore a direct question, so he forces himself to answer. “Strife,” he says, scrubs a hand over his face and tries to force his brain up to working speed. “William Strife.”

“Hey, William!” says the guy, bright and cheerful, and Strife hates him instantly both for being so awake and for using William. He drums impatient fingers on the table, and Strife resists the urge to punch him, but only just. “I’m Parvis. Just Parvis.” He smiles again, still oddly sly and secretive, as if he and Strife are sharing a joke the rest of the universe just doesn’t get. “Nice to meet you. I think this is going to be the start of a _beautiful_ friendship.”

Strife smiles, tight and a little forced, and looks back down at the notes that still seem to be little more than dark smears on a page. Privately, he thinks friendship is going a little far. “Let’s make it through the lecture first,” he says – which, given the way Parvis has already started to twitch and jitter as the caffeine hits his system, seems unlikely to happen without murder.


End file.
